


Haunting

by Skitty_Kat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, fic with art, the Shrieking Shack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitty_Kat/pseuds/Skitty_Kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From prompt: DH-compliant. Haunting Teddy. Please, no fluff.</p>
<p>Teddy knows full well there are no real ghosts in the Shrieking Shack ... are there?</p>
<p>(with bonus illustration)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunting

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for lupin_snape Fantasy Fest '08.

It was to be the first time Theodore Lupin saw his father in over fifteen years.

He wasn't to know that, of course, at the beginning of the night when he scrambled through the hole at the base of the Whomping Willow. Uncle Harry's stories of his old schooldays were practically required listening for any teenager in search of mischief and Teddy got them all firsthand. Uncle George's were even better but Aunty Molly had warned him about reminding and upsetting Uncle George. Uncle George didn't seem to mind at all though and would do tricks too, like pulling flags of all nations from the hole where his ear used to be. Teddy had the coolest almost-uncles and not-quite-aunts ever, he was sure. He was even sure that most of them would probably have approved of his little nighttime jaunt out of Hogwarts too.

The earth slipped a little under his trainers and it was with an awkward bump that he landed in the tunnel. A quick _Lumos_ showed him great twisting tree roots winding in and out of the dark soil, enclosing and wrapping and sucking it dry. It was oddly chilly underground in a damper way than it had been outside. Teddy gave a little shiver (part cold and part excitement) before heading down the tunnel. Behind him, the moon was just visible through the hole; round, white and full.

It was all Victoire's fault, of course. Teddy had been telling the story of why the Shrieking Shack was called the Shrieking Shack (most people knew it by now but Teddy got the privilege of being _the_ person to tell it properly) when she had piped up claiming that the Shack was still haunted and, what was more, was really haunted these days by a proper ghost. He had scoffed - after all, the Shack was his area of expertise - and demanded to know just where she had heard that from. She promptly responded that a man in Hogsmeade told her and that he had heard the haunting himself. Something in Teddy had growled at that point (Victoire was very good at getting men to talk to her, he had noticed) but, not wanting to lose face, he had declared that to be nonsense. Her immediate answer, accompanied by a flick of the head, was that he go along next full moon and see for himself. He, thus blinded by blonde hair and a smile, declared that he would do just that.

He wasn't regretting it now, honestly he wasn't. After all, once he proved himself right (of which he had no doubt) there would be an added bonus. Victoire had hinted that she might be persuaded to accompany him to Hogsmeade next weekend and that was enough to lend courage to any boy's heart. Ghosts weren't scary anyway. The scariest ghost in Hogwarts was the Bloody Baron and all he could do was scream at you. No, Teddy Lupin was afraid of no ghost. Especially when there weren't any there in the first place.

Still, he became a little quieter the closer he got to the Shack. It was that sort of place. A War hero had died there, right in front of Uncle Harry. And although he didn't believe there were ghosts there, no sir, Teddy started to feel a sort of nervous apprehension. It was said (and he had said it himself) that there was a permanent bloodstain on the floor where Headmaster Snape had died. Teddy wondered what colour blood was after over a decade. It wouldn't be red anymore. Scabs were never red, they always went a sort of dark purple colour. Some people claimed that the bloodstain was in the shape of a giant bat while others said it was a phoenix. Aunt Hermione had said that it depended on the person as to what they interpreted and that muggle psychologists did a similar thing with inkblots. Teddy didn't really care about that but he expected it'd be more blood than he'd ever seen in real life and that had to be kind of cool.

The end of the tunnel came up in front of him and he pushed the wood aside with a hand that only trembled a little bit. It was dark beyond so Teddy, telling himself he was being practical and safety conscious, carefully shone his wand around the room before climbing through. Shadows raced around the walls, chased by the light of his wand and he shuddered a little. There was a window in one wall, partly boarded over with shredded and rotting wood. Teddy tugged at the mouldy curtain in front of it, jumping back when the heavy fabric disintegrated in his hand. Thick, choking dust rose in clouds and the dessicated bodies of a few Doxies crumbled as they hit the floor. Moonlight rushed through and Teddy turned away from the sudden light.

There was a huge shadow on the floor. Teddy shied back from it before remembering that there weren't any ghosts and shadows certainly were not spectres. He crouched down to examine it properly, guessing that it must be the famous bloodstain. It wasn't so scary. There was nothing supernatural about a stain. He doubted that anyone had ever come to clean it up so no wonder it was still there. Satisfied in the very mundane nature of it, Teddy reached out to touch the darkened wood.

It was slightly tacky beneath his fingers. Teddy jerked his hand back. No way. No way was that still wet after this many years.

Moonlight had spread itself across the stain. Where the silver touched the black it seemed to brush it with colour, dragging out long-hidden undertones of crimson and maroon. Faint ripples circled slowly out from where Teddy's fingers had touched. He leaned closer, feeling what had previously been only tacky becoming liquid beneath his hand. Images swam beneath the surface, which seemed ridiculous as the blood was only a thin layer across rickety floorboards, and there seemed to be some immeasurable depth. Without warning, Teddy found himself falling forwards. He passed through the bloodstain without feeling anything and landed with a thump on exactly the same floor he had just apparently fallen through. He looked around, confused. The bloodstain had disappeared from the floor and the curtain was back at the window. The room was lit by a lantern and a man stood not far from Teddy. His head turned a little and caught the light. Teddy gasped, recognising the features from photos pored over a thousand times. He knew the tired lines at the edges of the eyes and mouth, the pale scars and the silver-edged hair.

It was Remus Lupin.

'Dad?' Teddy asked.

Remus didn't move, eyes trained on the tunnel's entrance. He shifted on his feet a little, clearly waiting for something.

'Dad?' Teddy tried again. It was no use. Remus clearly couldn't hear him. Teddy supposed that this must be like the pensieve memories Uncle Harry had told him about.

A noise came from the tunnel and Remus twitched his head towards it. He looked tired and worn thin and the look on his face was something that Teddy with his youth couldn't work out. A dark head emerged from the tunnel and Remus's back straightened. A man pulled himself from the hole and unfolded into a stiff-backed figure dressed entirely in black. Teddy gasped again. Anyone would recognise those distinctive features. This man was a War hero; one of the greatest, if Uncle Harry was to be believed.

Severus Snape glared at Remus Lupin.

'The little woman has let you off the leash for the night, I see,' Snape sneered.

'Tonks doesn't know where I am,' Remus replied mildly.

'And she wouldn't like it if she did, would she? The lovesick dunce doesn't really know what sort of man she married.'

Teddy stared at the man in disbelief.

'And what sort of man is that, Severus?'

Snape stalked closer to Remus while Teddy watched.

'An animal. A beast. A Dark creature. Certainly not a family man, or whatever the hell it is you think you're playing at now. I can hardly wait to see what sort of litter your eager little bitch whelps for you. Clearly she doesn't mind rutting with beasts.'

Each word was venom wrapped in vitriol. Teddy backed away from the two men in confusion, ending up against the wall. He'd always been told that Snape was a hero. And heroes were good men, weren't they? Yet here Snape was saying the most awful things about Teddy's mum and dad. He'd been told, of course, that Snape had been an unpleasant man but had never imagined the full reality. It was like the first time he'd seen someone actually get punched; not the sanitised, bloodless imitation on films and television but the real, ugly reality of pain and blood and breaking.

'Time was,' said Remus calmly, 'that you didn't mind rutting with this beast.'

Teddy, still reeling from Snape's unexpected cruelty, did not interpret the quiet statement immediately.

'That,' spat Snape, 'was before you decided you preferred a sweet little girl with abhorrent colour taste. She was one of my students, you know. Does she make you feel young again?'

'You betrayed us, Severus! You murdered Dumbledore!'

With a jolt Teddy realised that this conversation must have taken place in the last year before Voldemort had been defeated for good. Within a year both the men he was now watching would be dead. Desperate not to miss a bit of it, Teddy focused on his father. Remus's face was twisted up with anger as he glared at Snape, whose voice had dropped to a soft, threatening tone.

'So the werewolf decides he's too good for the Death Eater,' he purred. 'Or rather, the werewolf sees things getting difficult and jumps ship for something – or rather, someone – much _easier_.'

'"Things getting difficult"? Severus, you committed murder!'

'I've killed before, Lupin. You know that. I seem to remember you liking my … dangerous side. Is that why you're here?'

'You think I'd cheat on my _wife_ for you?'

Teddy was agape all over again. His dad and Snape had been … what, going out? He screwed up his face at the thought of them _snogging_. Or worse.

'Why else would you ask to meet me here? Surely not to murder me. That would be far too obvious. I can only assume that soft and willing little _wife_ isn't giving you what you want.'

'She's a far better person than you'll ever be.'

'Undoubtedly. Most people are. Do you deserve someone that good?'

Remus shook his head. 'No. But I'd rather someone I'm not good enough for than a piece of scum like you.'

Snape laughed nastily. 'A filthy werewolf and a piece of Death Eater scum. Sounds like a perfect match to me.'

Something passed through the air between them. Teddy, young and inexperienced, understood nothing of it. Seconds later the two men were grasping at each other in the middle of the room, mouths smashing together. They staggered across ragged floorboards until they hit a wall, grinding together roughly. Teddy yelled in surprise, shutting his eyes and willing it all to go away. When he opened them again, after a dizzying few seconds, he was back in the present day in the Shack, kneeling and gasping to breathe through sobs. He crawled away from the horrid bloodstain, curling up in the corner to cry out the shock of what he had seen.

When the sobs had dried up to hiccups he got to his feet and stumbled back across the room. The moonlight still painted translucency into the stain and in its depths two figures still played out their scene, repeated back now to the beginning of their conversation. The shouts could be heard quite clearly. Teddy stifled another sob and fled.

The next day, when he told Victoire the tale, he avoided certain parts of it. They were private and besides, he wasn't quite sure what he thought of them yet. The tale had to be told, though. He had been right, after all. They weren't ghosts, just some sort of echoes repeating endlessly. Ghosts could talk back whereas what Teddy had seen had been more like a recording; soulless and dead. Victoire had smiled prettily and agreed, taking his hand for the walk to Hogsmeade. He was so brave, she went on, creeping into that awful place all on his own. He was her hero. Teddy didn't find that description entirely comforting but squeezed her hand a little tighter and promised to take her to Honeyduke's.

  
The End.

 


End file.
